Isolated Incident
by Saulie
Summary: When Misa made out with Ryuuzaki in the hallway for two minutes and fiftyfour seconds, it wasn’t because she was in love with him.


(I was in Italy for twelve days, returning this past Monday--I typed this up squinting at my awful handwriting, I'll have you know, because I scribbled it in a notebook sitting on my suitcase in the daze of ten-hour jet lag. I disclaim away all lack of making sense. Nonetheless this is for Acey, who wanted L/Misa and however incoherently has now got some. I refuse to give them lurrrve, though. Misa loves Light and L...well, who knows what the deuce L wants? XD)

When Misa made out with Ryuuzaki in the hallway for two minutes and fifty-four seconds, it wasn't because she was in love with him. Acts of love never happened in places like _that. _Under florescent bulbs spaced three feet apart and boring wallpaper. Just—no. She'd kiss Light on top of the Empire State Building at the dawn of a new day or new world. It definitely would not have even remotely been like that time with—definitely not.

It was fast and impulsive and in a sliver of space where the camera didn't see. It was supposed to be messy. She had been thinking about this. Sick of getting watched by those wide black raccoon-eyes, by messy Ryuuzaki with his stupid precautions and rumpled white shirt and spindly piano-player fingers with half the nails bitten off and tongue that flickered around silver forks and lingered on half-melted pistachio ice cream. –and his _hair. _It was so horrid. Her stylist back at the modeling agency would have had an aneurysm. There he had been, Mister Permanently Disheveled The Famous Detective Who Apparently Thinks A Letter Is a Name, on his way to go think some more and bother her boyfriend. With his hair. And she had just been _itching _to do _something. _And she'd thought _Misa can do what s—I can do what I want! _And she'd caught his wrist as he was about to go and do something irritating and important. And he'd turned around, a tense pivot like someone expecting an attack.

Her small hand had left unseen fingerprints on his face as she brushed a few strands out of his eyes. She let her hand rest on his head for a moment. His hair felt like dead crow's feathers. From the silhouette on sterile walls it looked like she was giving him some sort of blessing.

And at that point she _still didn't know what he was thinking, _so she'd kissed him. It seemed like the thing to do. You know. Like in a movie. She didn't exactly plan on it, but inches from his face that was all full of secrets and unexplored quirks and the edges of diluted surprise—well, she sort of made a decision. It was a Tactic. Sort of. Later she wouldn't say she'd wanted to. She did. Hell if she knew why. Just—God, he had so much of Light's attention…? Why was he so special? (might not have even been that) Why did he sit like that, move like some weird creature with all those crouching angles? Why did he hide so much? Didn't he care about anything? Did he sleep?

Misa was hungry, really, and claustrophobic, and sick of being ignored.

She expected it to be messy. Like that time with that photographer at that second shoot for that one magazine, the one with the pretty eyes, outside the dressing room. Or Lise from Za Za's, or—

She didn't expect any kind of graceful response, but that was what she got. Ryuuzaki was a good if hesitant kisser. –sorry? Almost—_gentlemanly, _maybe, like she was—but who did he think she was, the queen of freaking England, why the, the soft elegance—she wasn't—well—she _deserved—_what exactly—ohhh, she was dizzy and flushed and agitated somehow,

and somehow she ended up pushing him against the wall---

and a short while later she pulled back and took a deep breath—

_What did Misa just—_

Something in her expression must've been bewildered, because Ryuuzaki's first calm words were rather matter-of-fact.

"It isn't as if I haven't done this before, Misa-san."

She believed him, a little.

"You're really weird, Ryuuzaki," she retorted. Did her lipstick look all right?

He tilted his head. Misa could feel every outline of his terrible posture tingling on her fingertips, for a second. "Oh?"

"You're not—" _Human, _she was going to say. But he'd _felt—_normal, somehow, normal-but-weird, somewhere, which was what she had wanted to know. Still, worst reaction _ever. _Flustered, she finished, "You aren't like a normal person."

Ryuuzaki simply nodded in acquiescence.

(less wry than it should've been)

Misa grinned impishly. She'd scored a point.

She looked him up and down. He wasn't very substantial, either.

"You should get more sleep."

"I don't know what Light-kun would think of what you just did," said Ryuuzaki mildly.

--Misa wanted to slap him. Bringing that up. Stupid Ryuuzaki who wasn't as guileless as his childlike eating habits; he _completely _knew that Light wasn't in love with her _yet _and what was that detective doing thinking about _Light _when he should have been thinking about _her? _What right did he have to that? Only _she _could think about Light!

_Maybe he really doesn't know. _

He always knew everything!

Ugh!

She really was gonna—

Ryuuzaki caught her hand mid-flight.

On the outskirts of his voice, at least, there was kindness.

"I can keep a secret," he said, "Misa-san."

Misa jerked her hand back but nodded, wrapping her arms around herself as she shivered. "I bet. So can I," she added with a spark of defiance.

Ryuuzaki's answer was even. "Yes, Misa-san."

She made her way backwards to the elevator, still shaking, and thought about maybe going wedding dress shopping with Light someday after a diamond-ring proposal and how good Light would look in a tuxedo, yes, Light's _so handsome, _she thought as the doors slid closed.

(and the faint smell of strawberries)

A measured 30 seconds later L smiled slightly. There had been nothing to factor into that. He was twenty-five years old and an adult. He rejected ideas of little significance.

If he had affection for Misa (small and warm and persistent and unsuitable) he would keep it exactly where he kept his other affections, and that was out of sight.

He caught his own reflection in a mirror and realized, with a blend of irritation and pleasure, that he was blushing.


End file.
